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To 


H. R. H. 


Ruler of 

MY LITTLE KINGDOM 



MY LITTLE KINGDOM 


By 

INGHIN MACCARTHAIGH 


PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 
1918 



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Copyright, 1918, by 
Inghin Maccarthaigh 



©CI.A501625 


To H. T. W. 


Captain Engineer Corps 
U. S. A. 




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/ 



CONTENTS 


PAGE 

The Wings of Love 10 

My Ship Comes In 11 

Love Gives All — -Freely 12 

The Grand, Old Story 13 

Oh, Perfect Hour! 14 

Day of Days 15 

Tears of the World 16 

Tangible Things 17 

Waters of Lethe 18 

Valley of Flame 19 

What is the Matter, Dear? 20 

Fairy Godmother of the Earth 21 

The Empty Urn 22 

The Storehouse of My Heart 23 

The Song of Life 24 

Love's Language 25 

Where is Wednesday-Land? 26 

Isle of Delight 27 

The Die is Cast! 28 

Will O'the Wisp 29 

Little Lost Princess 30 

Spanish Pirate Lover 31 

Robin's-Wings 32 

Wings are for Flight 33 

Dream Lover 34 

Favored of the Gods 35 

Flower-Women 36 

The Sachet of You 37 

Lucky Star 38 

Star of Heaven 39 

Oh, Player be Careful ! 40 

Home, Sweet Home 41 


CONTENTS — J 


PAGE 

Storm Swept Isle 42 

Cosmos 43 

The Mist on the Lake 44 

Lovely Lady of the Lake 45 

Clinging Vine 46 

Ah! Sweet Death 47 

Harmony 48 

Star of My Life 49 

The Mirage of You 50 

The Magic of Love 51 

Passionate Sea 52 

Castle of Dreams 53 

Lovers Alchemy 54 

The Wine of Life 55 

Kin to all the World 56 

I Need You So 57 

Symphonie 58 

Paradise Point 59 

On This Your Natal Day 60 

The Heart of the Rose 61 

Stolen Days 62 

Back to the Cave 63 

My Prayer 64 

Love Guards — In Loving 65 

Come Back Oh, Magician 66 

Love-Poet's Eyes 67 

Empty Shells 68 

The Winding Way of Life 69 

The Altar of My Heart 70 

My Mission 71 

Adown the Ages 72 

To THE End of Time 73 

Rainbow's End 74 


CONTENTS — ( Continued ) 

PAGE 

Hearths Desire 75 

Oh, Treasure Ship 76 

I Am as Nothing 77 

Swift-Winged Messengers 78 

Bird of Paradise 79 

If This be Good Omen 80 

The Soul of a Sea Gull 81 

The Valley of Shadows 82 

Lifers Purgatory 83 

This Little You-and-Me 84 

The King^s Handicap 85 

My Jewel Case 86 

The Queen's Kingdom 87 


The Wings of Love 


Dear: 

I am a butterfly and You the sunshine. 
And I think I feel just as the little thing 
must feel when it comes out of a dark co- 
coon into the glad sunlight. 

And when I crept out of the shell of my 
former life I, too, found the proverbial 
wicked little boy right there watching me. 
But this time it was the tireless hunter 
Cupid and he aimed his bow and arrow at 
MY heart. 

And his aim was swift and true, 

But when he pierced it he suddenly re- 
lented — He remembered I was far away 
from You. So he gave me a pair of golden 
wings — the wings of love — to take me to 
you. 

At first I did not know just how to use 
them and fluttered round about. For strange 
they were to me these shining golden wings. 
I wondered would they hold me? 

But when you saw and SMILED I 
knew that they were strong. . . . So I 
flew to You. 

Oh, My Love I was not afraid for I flew 
into your arms. From the dark cocoon of 
my former life into the light o’ You. 

Wonderingly, 

Camilla. 

Letter, 


10 


My Ship Comes In 


Dear Lady: 

Like every other mortal I’ve been look- 
ing out to sea for many years for my ship 
to come in. And wondering what treasure 
she carried for me. Silks and jewels, rare 
incense and perfumes. 

Oh, I had wished for many things on 
that promised vessel. For golden wealth and 
sometimes even Fame. And always, AL- 
WAYS dear, for love. 

But times without number I despaired 
there was a ship for me. For I knew not, 
when the clouds of life were dark and threat- 
ening whether my valient craft be wrecked 
on the stormy sea. 

But one Never-to-be-Forgotten day I 
was filled with rapture for before my very 
eyes there loomed a beautiful ship — in full- 
est sail. Nearer she same and nearer. I 
watched with bated breath. Was she for Me? 

Oh, majestically she sailed and straight 
was her course — And my heart leaped with 
joy for even as I looked I saw my ship was 
really a lovely form in flowing robes. The 
form of You. 

Then Lady mine, I knew my dearest 
wish had been granted. 

My ship was You — Laden with treasures 
of love. 

Yours, 

Truitt. 

Answer, 


11 


Love Gives All — Freely 


Dear: 

I think love only reaches its height when 
it gives All without fear or question — ask- 
ing only faith in the Loved one. Then shall 
anything in life bring more contentment 
than true belief in those we hold so dear. 

Until You came Love, I held my woman- 
hood in trust for you. Then freely gave as 
you have freely given. And now I have a 
very thankful prayer that I have placed my 
faith in you aright. 

Still, I have one alarm — that you think 
me too unwomanly in wooing. But Sweet- 
heart mine, I should not then have cared, 
if when you held such joyousness out to me 
I had not leaped into your eager arms. 

Dear, a woman may be modest many 
ways — but to her Lover she will give ALL 
freely. 

Lovingly, 

Camilla. 

Letter, 


12 


The Grand^ Old Story 


In fearlessness your soul met mine when 
you gave yourself to me — In fullest trust 
you gave me All your love — For you are the 
flint to my steel. 

I wonder if you know that a finer flint 
will not strike fire unless mated to a certain 
steel. And because you are my Mate — It 
were predestined. 

Dear, if it were unwomanly to show your 
love to me — How might I tell you cared? 
Nay, rather have you filled my heart with 
gladness. For now I know — In me you 
place your trust. 

Sweetheart mine, you were made for me 
in Beginning of Time. Ashamed of THIS! 

It is the grand old story of the world! 

Yours, 

T. 


Answer, 


Oh^ Perfect Hour! 


Beloved: 

Someday, I wish to have a token of a 
Perfect Hour. 

Let it be a perfect pearl, roseate hued 
with passion, cerulean with heavenly bliss 
and scintillating with the golden and silvered 
tints of “purest” abandonment. 

And underlying all the deep cream rich- 
ness of years of Ambition and Achievement. 

Oh, Perfect Hour! Oh, Perfect Pearl! 

Longingly, 

Camilla. 


Letter, 


Day of Days 


It seems strange that one hour should be 
more perfect than the rest dear — but it is so. 

And now on Wednesday as the clock 
strikes two I shall offer up a little prayer. 
It is a hallowed hour. 

This day will be an inspiration to me to 
accomplish the best in my work. And it shall 
be my lucky day. 

Love, when I took you in my arms and 
said ‘‘There might be grief in satisfaction.” 
You looked at me with eyes like stars and 
cried “Sweet I am not afraid.” 

And so there was not grief but joy. And 
I know NOW what is beyond the stars. 

Ah, let us make a new week dear, that 
each day may be Wednesday. 

The Wednesday Wisher. 

True. 


Answer, 


15 


Tears of the World 


When it rains in a steady downpour dear, 
it means that the bereaved of the world are 
weeping for those they have loved and lost. 

And I wonder if you know there are 
many kinds of rain. Some sad ones for those 
who have journeyed on before for we must 
grieve when parted from those we love so 
well. 

But I shall no longer weep. Ah, No I 
will rejoice for now I know they are safe 
from the grey hawks of the world. It rains 
in a steady passionless rain Love, for those 
who have gone before. 

Perchance you know that the tear-rain 
so violent, so stormy is bred of anger dear. 

But not so with the little passing storm 
of love’s emotion and after it the rainbow of 
a smile — That dear one, is the rain that 
makes the Tree of Life to leave. 

And still there is another kind of rain 
forerunner of the flood. For days it pours. 

Love, your going away released the flood- 
gates of my soul and it rains in the Country 
of My Heart. 

Your Weeping One. 


Letter. 


16 


Tangible Things 


Dear: 

You have sent me to the war with my 
promise that I will not return until my work 
is done. Then how shall I make the sun to 
shine in the Country of Your Heart? How 
can I bid you dear one do not weep? 

You have sent me away to learn how 
strong is love. Oh, surely you must know — 
To punish me for loving you too much. 

Dear Lady mine the memory of that 
hour is my most wonderful possession. But 
if you are denied to me in all the time to 
come — Then it will be IMPOSSIBLE to 
bear. 

For though it be a thousand times most 
dear — one may not take a memory in ones 
arms. 

Dreams are wondrous sweet, My Heart 
but how gloriously beautiful are the Tangi- 
ble Things of Love. 

Your Real “True” Lover. 


Answer. 


Waters of Lethe 


Dear: 

I am invited to go to Lake Placid for a 
time. Do you think I will find there the 
Waters of Lethe? 

I am searching for the Fountain of For- 
getfulness and longing for that other ‘fuente’ 
where my thirst could never be slaked. The 
Fountain of Love whose waters rise in the 
depths of your soul. 

Lake Placid to me sounds wonderful — 
Surely there I will find no storms. 

Your Desolate Kam. 


Letter. 


Valley of Flame 


In writing my letters in Spanish dear I 
am taking an unfair advantage of you — For 
first of all it is a lovers language — And then 
you say, you translate it the way you “want” 
it to be. 

I cannot accustom myself to your tongue 
dear, it does not express my thoughts. 
For though I was born in the Westernland, 
I am at heart a Latin. 

You are cruel to me lovely Lady — you 
have sent me away — Forgetting. 

God built an altar within my breast. 

You kindled the fire of wild desire; 

Who gives me Rest? 

Lake Placid. . . . There’s only ONE 
WAY to Lake Placid NOW. And that, 
through the Valley of Flame. 

Yours, 


Answer, 


T— . 


What is the Matter^ Dear? 


Everything is upside down today dear, 
I am at war with the Universe and find no 
peace. 

So this morning I wandered out into 
woodland ways to pour out my heart. But 
nothing there seemed right. 

The birds did not sing sweet love songs 
they only hopped about and quarreled. The 
very wind was angry with the tree tops. 
There was no note of harmony there. 

So I climbed up on a jagged rock, cleft 
by some god in violence or in play and 
mended by Mother Nature as best she could 
with moss and sand and stones. 

The crevasse was deep so I laid full 
length in it and cried and cried — for there 
seemed not an interesting thing in all the 
woodland world. Even the chipmunk curi- 
ous yet afraid, was alone. The bob-white 
whistled again and again but there was no 
answering call. 

What is the matter, dear? 

Your unhappy 

Camilla. 

Letter, 


20 


Fairy Godmother of the Earth 


Sweetheart mine when you came to me 
out of the sky, the world changed its cloak 
of grey to one of rose-pink hue. 

So now as we wander in the wayside 
paths — your hand in mine — the birds sing 
sweeter love songs and the trees bow as we 
pass. The flowers all nod their heads as in 
approval and the brook so gayly babbles to 
the rocks. Gentle zephyrs play around us 
and caress you and the woodland folk all 
run across our path. 

I think dear heart, you must be the fairy 
godmother of the earth. 

I know this — that when you kissed me — 
To me the world awoke. 

As ever. 

True. 


Answer. 


The Empty Urn 


I am a little urn today dear, with all the 
Happiness of life spilled out of it. 

Oh, such an empty little urn, waiting for 
you to pour into it rich treasures of an un- 
spoiled soul. 

And what will they be? I wonder. I 
know there will be Faith and Honesty and 
Hope and MUCH Love for you yourself 
have said so. 

You say I am cruel to have sent you 
away from me. You forget that I have sent 
you away for very good reasons. First of 
which is because I love you TOO MUCH. 
The second that you learn to know me, un- 
influenced by personality. And lastly that 
you search and know your inmost heart. 

But Oh, I am such an empty little urn, 
turned upside down dear but, SOMEDAY 
will you not turn the bowl heavenward and 
fill it with the Gladness of Life? 

Your 

Forlorn Little One. 


Letter, 


22 


The Storehouse of My Heart 


Gladly, gladly will I endeavor to fill the 
urn dear — But humbly do I bring my pitiful 
little store to You. 

For from the time I first met you I have 
culled it o’er and o’er, sifting out the chaff 
from the grain. 

But even that which I have left is all 
unworthy of You. 

It is a pitifully small store dear — but 
who knows that ’neath the tender guidance 
of my Lady Gardner’s hand it may not blos- 
som and fill the bowl to overflowing with all 
that is sweetest and best in life. 

Your Promiser, 

True. 


Answer, 


The Song of Life 


Dear: 

All the Music in the world does not con- 
tain the vibrant notes of your voice. 

All the Poetry in the world cannot ex- 
press 

‘T WANT YOU.” 

The movement of an eyelash, 

The lifting of a finger, 

An indrawn breath. 

The quiver of a nostril. 

Not one movement is lost. All stir the depths 
of my being. 

For they are, the Music and Poetry of the 
Song of Life. 

Lovingly, 

Kam. 


Letter, 


Lovers Language 


Dear; 

It think it is only lovers, who from time 
immemorial have found language too inex- 
pressive to extol the loved ones charms. 

For how, pray may I tell of apple-blos- 
som finger tips that carry within their deli- 
cate castings the vibrant wires to a sensitive 
soul? How I ask? 

Only dear, by pressure of my own eager 
lips or hands. 

How shall I tell of shell pink ears and a 
red rose mouth — Only by whispering lover’s 
sweet nothings in them — or showering your 
lips with kisses TOO fast for words. 

How may I tell of a fragrant cloud of 
hair — only dear by entangling myself in its 
silken meshes. 

And how, HOW I beg shall I express 
“I love you” — Only when I crush you to 
me * * * and we rush into the selfsame 
space — 

Dear, it is only in Love’s Language I 
may tell it. 

And that only to You. 

True — 

Interpreter of Love. 


Answer. 


25 


Where is Wednesday-Land? 


Dear, do you know where is Wednesday- 
land? 

The country you and I discovered one 
glorious afternoon. Ah, only YOU should 
know. 

They say Love, that Thursday Island is 
but two months away in times of peace. Do 
you think it should be so far to Wednesday- 
iand? 

Yet here I am sailing into the ninth week 
and from my steady lookout I can see noth- 
ing but a vast stretch of monotonous What’s- 
the-Use Ocean. 

Dear, do you know where is Wednesday- 
land? 

The Dream-Wisher, 

Camilla. 


Letter, 


Isle of Delight 


Dearie mine, the land you are looking 
for is known to true lovers only — and even 
they must go over to the right and heaven- 
wards to find it. 

And to reach it Sweetheart, one may not 
travel the way alone — for it is very near the 
Stars. And only on the wings of love shall 
one go there. 

It is a wonderful land of unexplored re- 
gions that only true lovers may know. And 
they will not tell. 

Only this much dear — That at the en- 
trance to the “Haven of Bliss” one shall find 
a fountain between red roses called “Lovers 
Mouth,” where if one is so blessed he may 
sip of the wine of life, one hundred times 
without even stopping — And here too find 
the clinging vines of deep affection that send 
their tendrils creeping into heart and soul. 

Others may know of lands that to them 
seem wonderful places. But to me Dear 
Heart, Wednesday-land is my Isle of De- 
light. 

With all my love. 

True. 

Answer. 


27 


The Die is Cast! 


The die is cast dear ! I have sent back the 
drop of water that I once was proud to wear 
— And I am free! 

Sir Launcelot IF you had not come out 
of the Southland to sing a madrigal in my 
too willing ears — And I had NOT listened 
— THEN we had not journeyed Beyond 
the Stars and by this time I had been the 
haughty chatelaine of ‘Breakers Crest’ — 
Harkening to its owner singing one song 
o’er and o’er — Triumphal March. 

I am truly sorry dear to break my given 
word and I may only plead ‘I did not know.’ 

Ah, dear Love, how should I know that 
from Wednesday-land I would NOT wish 
to return— AND THAT ONLY YOU 
MAY TAKE ME THERE. 

So now my heart is singing — nor is it a 
song of Lamentation nor a doleful monody 
— but a paean of love, for I am free. Free, 
FREE! 

Do you know what that means — It 
means that I am free to love You. 

Your Untrammeled One. 


Letter, 


28 


Will 0"the Wisp 


Dear: 

Do you not think you may regret it all. 
I have so little to offer you of worldly goods. 
I am but a Finder of the Way. 

All my life I have battled with the wilds 
that the world may progress — conquering 
deep rivers — spanning chasms wide. Build- 
ing here among the clouds and blasting there 
in the mountain’s very bowels. 

Sweetheart, lam a Nomad — I have 
travelled in all lands. Why should you care 
for me^ — You who have the choice of the 
cultured of the earth. 

I am as far away from you as the North 
from the Southern pole. 

Lovely Lady have a care! You are fol- 
lowing Will o’the Wisp. 

Yours, 

Tru-ly. 


Answer. 


Little Lost Princess 


Today I am a Little Lost Princess in 
my Tower longing for my fairy Prince. 

I wonder dear, if there are not many lost 
princesses who in the secret depths of their 
hearts sigh and long for some piratical lover 
to break in and carry tliem away to his cave 
on the wild, rocky shore. 

We are too civilized dear, too civilized. 
Think of all the happiness we miss in too 
great control. 

Where is that Spanish pirate ancestor of 
yours? I could love him for his fierce bra- 
vado charm. 

And today I would be with mine — out 
on the rough crags of the bonny Hielands. 

With Rob Roy blowing a pibroch — out 
to right my wrongs. 

Hark! Can’t you hear the weird, wild 
wail of the bagpipes? 

I am a Little Lost Hieland Princess to- 
day. 

Your L. L. Princess, 

Kam. 

Letter, 


30 


Spanish Pirate Lover 


And would you not be afraid little prin- 
cess — if I girded on my cutlass, strapped on 
a blunderbuss and with a dirk or two in my 
girdle set out to find you? 

I would stamp and rage about if I could 
not have you. And I would defy the world 
as I sailed away with you across the Spanish 
Main. 

Then I would carry you off to my cave 
on an uninhabited Isle, where I would be so 
jealous of you Lady mine, that if even a 
lion coveted you — I WOULD KILL 
HIM. 

You say we exercise too much control. 
Dear little Hieland Princess if all mortals 
abandoned themselves to the joys of life! 
The result would be — 

Too bewildering to imagine. 

Your 

Spanish Pirate Lover. 


Answer, 


Robin^s- Wings 


Dear: 

I am a young robin today, proud of my 
gay colored garb after the sombre hues of 
Yesterday. I am hopping about chirping 
“Look at me — Look at me.” And I am 
singing. 

But in my heart of hearts I am impatient 
for the time to come when my wings will 
hold me. That I may fly to You. 

And when I am safely sheltered in your 
arms I shall no longer have use for wings — 
shall I? 

Then what to do with them? I know 
you will not wish to clip them. 

I tell you — I will just borrow them for 
my new spring bonnet ! 

Your 

Fly-Away W am. 


Letter. 


32 


Wings are for Flight 


Lady^ lady: 

If you wear your wings on your new 
spring bonnet I shall be continually re- 
minded that you have them — and that some 
day you may use them to fly away from me 


to other lands and OTHER LOVES. 

You say you are a young robin today 
dear, — Then may I not be the worm beneath 
your dainty feet, who, however unworthy of 
you, shall still be necessary to your happi- 
ness and well being. 


Your “fearful” 


True. 


Answer. 


33 


Dream Lover 


Dear: 

You ask me whether in all the years that 
have gone before, I ever dreamed of you 
and how I fancied you to be? 

You say every woman has her Ideal of a 
lover — therefore I must have mine. 

Of course I have Dearest of All. 

And You were to be, not wonderful of 
form but brilliant of mind. Your eyes were 
not to be the most beautiful in the world but 
oh, when you looked at me they would be 
soft and tender yet hold within their depths 
the latent fires of a strong and fearless soul. 
And above all dear your will would be far 
stronger than that of mine. 

Too, your mouth was firm with the firm- 
ness of greatness — yet very red and moist 
and full. 

Your chin was broad and squarely 
set — but Love, I did not say there must be 
a cleft in it that one might touch, if one only 
dared. 

And so you are my dream come true and 
NOW I will confess — That I always wished 
you to be so ardent — You NEVER would 
let me alone. 

Dreamer of You. 


Letter. 


34 


Favored of the Gods 


Dear: 

I think when the gods made you they 
were in a particularly benevolent mood — 
Else why are you so fair? 

Then do you not think, dear, that in the 
place where they mold our figures it is the 
same as with the workmen of the world. 
There are clumsy apprentices as well as ar- 
tists to make the forms. 

And as we are sent from one department 
to another — they put a nose on here and ears 
on there, often entirely without relation to 
the rest of our features. And how they must 
laugh at some of us dear. 

But in moulding You sweet, they used 
their choicest models — employing only those 
skilled in the art. 

And when they had finished you, they 
sent you to Mother Nature with the admoni- 
tion, you were favored of the gods and she 
must borrow your color from the loveliest 
things of earth. And so She did. 

Making a mouth from the reddest rose 
and cheeks from the apple-blossoms. 

But she could not find eyes like yours 
here below. So she borrowed two stars from 
the sky. 

Worshipfully, 

True. 

Answer, 


35 


Flo WER- W omen 


All women are flowers dear, are they 
not? 

Then what kind of a flower do you think 
I am? I wonder. 

Would you like me to be a tall white 
lily, pure and cold? Ah, No, for lilies remind 
me in their waxy whiteness of death and 
tears. 

Perhaps you would have me a simple 
daisy, trusting and staunch — with my face 
turned towards the shining sun. 

Or maybe you fancy a hothouse rose 
cultivated in the worldly world — with heavy 
perfume of coquetry and art. 

Orchids are abnormal I hear you say but 
lovely, frail, exquisite. I think though dear, 
you would not have me so. For an orchid has 
no perfume — And is not the perfume of a 
flower its soul? 

F orgetmenots are true and modest would 
you have me one of these? 

No, NO, Dear Heart for I am a poppy 
flower in Love’s Garden. Frailest and most 
passionate of flowers. 

POPPINEA. 


Letter. 


36 


The Sachet of You 


Dear: 

You have set me a difficult task — There 
are so many flowers and You possess so 
many charms. How may I decide? 

You are modest as a forgetmenot, and 
trusting as the daisy. As lovely as the rose, 
as stately as a lily and far more exquisite 
than the orchid. How shall I choose? 

You say you are a poppy flower. You 
are more than that, you are All the others 
— Your breath is fragrant as a bunch of 
roses, your hair the odor of new mown hay. 

I think you are a lovely jar of pot-pourri 
dear, essence of all the flowers and spices. 

For Beloved when you lean near me you 
overpower my senses with the sachet of 
“Just You.” 

Your “intoxicated” 

True. 


Answer. 


Lucky Star 


Had I only one wish dear in all the 
world, only one wish I think it would be — 
to be your Lucky Star. 

Then each time you wished on me I 
would be able to fulfil your desire. 

I could smile down upon you and make 
you great among men — If that was your 
Ambition. 

And mine would be the privilege to 
shield you and protect you from all harm. 

Dear, do you think if I were your lucky 
star you would become an Astronomer for 
all time? 

At any rate I should bestow upon you 
your coveted A. R.* 

Your 

Lucky Star. 


*A. R. Astronomer Royal. 


Letter, 


Star of Heaven 


Of course I will become an Astronomer 
if you are to be my lucky star — that I may 
be nearer to you. And through you I shall 
become famous for I know you will show 
your beauty to me alone, dear — As you have 
shown it to me before. 

And my lovely star I will spend many 
days and nights gazing upon you, begging 
you to tell me the secret of the Ages — Of 
the Hidden River of Flame. 

But if you are My Lucky Star dear, pray 
be on earth beside me — Then if you wish for 
heaven Oh, I shall take you there. 

Hopefully, 


True. 


Answer. 


Oh^ Player be Careful! 


Dear: 

You play strange music upon my heart- 
strings — strange music. Part of your letter 
is a love song — the rest a valediction. 

You send me soaring to the heights — to 
be flung to the depths below. 

Your music is wondrous yet strange. A 
beautiful love song dies away in a plaintive 
litany. Do you think it will soon become a 
Requiem? 

You say o’er and o’er “La vida es un 
sueno — Life’s only a dream. True, it may 
be but a dream — but Oh, Love ’tis a dream 
for two. 

You play strange music upon my heart- 
strings — Music, wondrous yet strange. 

But Oh, I pray you Player be Careful — 
for it be a frail instrument — a loving wo- 
man’s heart! 

Your Sweetheart, 

Kam. 


Letter, 


40 


Home^ Sweet Home 


Dear, frail little instrument I shall be 
very careful that the only music I play to 
you be a madrigal or a roundelay. 

Tho I think you know lovely Lady I 
would not willingly bring you unhappiness 
when I play upon your heart. 

Still you and I are attuned dear, to the 
highest pitch in love — And a great love 
brings great fear. 

Not a fear in distrust but rather that one 
shall not be worthy of the loved one. 

I shall play a madrigal or a roundelay 
NOW — But oh, my dearie one, someday 
may I not play Home, sweet Home — loveli- 
est song in all the world. 

Your adoring 

Trou-badour. 


Answer, 


Storm Swept Isle 


Tonight I am so passionate for you dear 
that I fail to find me aught of peace or rest. 
Today my aching heart has cried out to you 
and for weary restless hours I lay and wept. 

I lay and wept and beat the pillows with 
my unavailing hands. Oh, surely you must 
know. 

For I sent my soul out into space to 
touch you, to find you and to follow you 
and though I asked myself a thousand times 
can one love thus, unsatisfied — and live. 
There was no answer. 

So, at last I tried to flee my tortured 
mind and sought the naked elements out- 
side for it is wild tonight. And something 
in the wildness of the night called wildly to 
me and I ran gladly to it — my fevered face 
turned toward the beating rain. 

I had no care of time. My only wish was 
answer to it all. Is my love vain? 

And so there in the wildness of the 
night I called to heaven to hear my earnest 
prayer. I called to heaven — Finding not 
my answer there. 

Dear, in my heart I know the greatest 
love is not of earth. But Oh! I want you so. 

Longingly, 


Letter, 


Camilla. 


42 


Cosmos 


Dear Little Storm Swept Isle: 

The answer to love and even life itself is 
there in the rain if you but knew just how to 
read it. 

Open your heart and mind, abandon 
yourself and you will learn to know. For 
is it not this selfsame rain that makes the 
grass and trees and flowers to grow. Oh, 
surely. 

That then is the answer to it all — for to 
create life is the aim of life. So mold dear 
what you can for creation is expression of 
your soul. A poem, a bit of a love song, a 
robe, a new dance or best of all a little child. 

My lovely One the answer then to life 
is in creation. 

Create, create, create it is our one excuse 
for being. Build, build, build that life itself 
be not in vain. 

Therefore ‘T want you” is the strongest 
force of earth. For without desire, dear there 
would be no life. 

And without life no love. 

Your Wellwisher, 

T. 


Answer, 


The Mist on the Lake 


You say you are aweary of the world 
dear, all things are mean and small. 

Then I pray you go out upon the Lake 
this eve, beneath God’s stars. And there in 
the vast Cathedral of the Night you will 
learn and know. 

And when you are drifting about in your 
frail canoe I shall steal down around you — 
You will not know me for I will be the Mist 
upon the Lake. But I will caress your weary 
brow and kiss your tired, sweet lips and cool 
your fevered hands. 

And when you are lulled to rest I shall 
enfold you in my soft protecting veil and 
draw it close about you — To shut out all the 
world. 

Ah, Sweetheart I would be the Mist upon 
the Lake that I might envelop you. 

Your Veiled 

Prophetess. 


Letter. 


Lovely Lady of the Lake 


Love, if you are the mist upon the lake 
I will become a gondolier. 

But dear, elusive one where, pray, shall 
I look for you when sun and moon and stars 
have frightened you away? 

What shall I do if in reaching to caress 
you I find that you have vanished in the air? 

If I hunted, do you think I would find 
you along the rocky shore or in a cave play- 
ing with the tiny Lake Children? Or 
WOULD life be the same as it is now — 
That I must wait long weary hours to see 
you. For such a little while. 

Ah, Love, would it be as it is in this 
world — You are there beside me for a time — 
but even as I look you are no longer there. 

Some cruel wind of earth has torn you 
from my side. 

But YOU come! Cling to me close and 
put your soft cool arms about me — And 
cling to me closer Lovely Lady of the Lake. 

Your 

Would-be Gondolier. 


Answer, 


45 


Clinging Vine 


Today I am a wisteria vine hung with 
blossoms, heavy with the fragrance of pas- 
sionate longing. 

And of course I am wondering if You 
like a clinging woman. Or would you have 
me a tall tree growing there beside you — 
Strong separate Unit in life? I wonder dear. 

But somehow I have always longed to 
be the clinging vine that I might creep into 
sheltering arms — Away from rough winds 
of earth. 

Still I tremble! For if I be a wisteria 
vine and wind myself a thousand times 
around and in and out of your sturdy white 
oak form — 

Would I too someday strangle you? 

Your 

Little Clinging- Vine. 


Letter, 


46 


Ah! Sweet Death 


I am just old fashioned enough to love a 
clinging vine, My Lady. And I know too 
that all men in their heart of hearts would 
have those they love always dependent upon 
them. 

You say you are a wisteria vine hung 
with the fragrance of longing. Yes, Sweet- 
heart, you are a lovely vine and you have 
wound yourself around and in and out of 
my life — sending into me the tendrils of 
your love. 

And dear, if you would uproot them now 
you must needs tear my soul asunder. 

As to your someday killing me — I know 
of no death sweeter than this. 

To die of too much love. 

Lovingly 

True. 


Answer, 


Harmony 


Do you not think dear, we are all musi- 
cal notes in God’s Song of Life? I do. Men 
are the bass notes of Strength and Power. 
Women the treble that completes the chord. 

We each contain several notes as may be 
— Some harsh and loud — others soft and 
sweet. And the treble is above the bass, that 
man may look up to woman. 

I am a minor chord, plaintive and very 
near to tears. And contain five notes. My 
first a very full, sweet one, is Sentiment. My 
second, a whole one too. Ambition. My third 
is Loyalty. My fourth Nobility. And last 
but of equal value to them All, Affection. 

I have passed many notes in the Song 
of Life but oh, the discordant tones. I won- 
der do they feel it also? 

I have passed many notes in the Song 
of Life and I have sought in many lands — 
for the bass that is attuned to my treble. 

Hark! Be still my heart. 

I stop and listen for the notes are faint 
and in the far away — I strain my every 
nerve to catch their wondrous sound. And 
tremble lest I lose them. For they are the 
other notes of my own half chord. Of 
Strength and Power and Gladness. 

Nearer they come and nearer — The very 
air vibrates with the tense and tremulous 
waves. Nearer and yet nearer — And my soul 
soars out to meet the harmonious bass. 

And as they join in ecstacy, attuned in 
perfect symphony — ^What GLAD, MAD, 
RINGING MUSIC in my heart! 

Your Ecstatic 


Letter. 


48 


Kam. 


Star of My Life 


Ah, that is why my Lady there is no dis- 
cordant note in our friendship. The reason I 
find pleasure in your gracious presence dear, 
for you are the treble to my Bass. 

All my life I searched the world in vain for You. I 
looked for You and I have journeyed far; 

I sought you there among the almond blossoms, in 
India, beside the Shalomar; 

Pale moons of passion hung each night in heaven. 

I called You. Ah, dear one you surely heard 
For longing such as mine must bring an answer; My 
beating heart, the only thing that stirred. 

I called again. Oh, softly I called dearest, I feared 
you might be timid or afraid. 

Unless you took my voice for some soft zephyr that 
thrilled you as around your lithe form played. 

I called again. I know you heard and mocked me — 
’Twas not a night bird’s cry but You sweetheart, 
I begged you then to come that I might touch you — 
You shrilly cried and vanished in the dark. 

You spoke to me in Lake Geneva’s waters, your rip- 
pling laughter called me in the “Falls.” 

I heard your voice in cold winds in the Northland; 

You taunted me in sweet birds mating calls. 
O’er all the world you spoke to me in nature, you 
sighed in trees and wept with me in rain; 

You kissed me and caressed me in the twilight — Dew 
kisses that have cooled my fevered brain. 

I looked around the world for you in vain dear, for- 
getting that you might not be of earth. 

Then one glad night I wished for you in Starland — 
You dropped into my arms. I know your worth 
For I have searched all lands. Now I have found you 
— Will cherish and protect you with my life; 

God grant that we may live and love and prosper. 

Our lives to honored be in Peace or Strife; 

And those who through us live shall live to bless us. 

Their heritage a stainless, blameless past. 

While down the thousand, thousand years to come 
dear, we journey on, your hand in my hand claspt. 

Your 

Missing Chord. 


Answer. 


49 


The Mirage of You 


Best Beloved: 

The Maker of Souls is wondrous wise 
in His provisions of nature — therefore if we 
follow MINUTELY our natural instincts 
we will ever be right. 

That is why He has caused to be graven 
on my heart the beautiful Intaglio of you. 
It is why dear, when I look at another I find 
he is not so lithe and tall — that his hands 
are not so strong and his smile is not as 
sweet. And his eyes ah, Love they are not 
tender and soft like yours. 

So everywhere I look I see floating be- 
fore me the Mirage of You — reflection of 
engravings on my heart. Dear, everywhere 
I look I see the outline of your form and so, 
“Tho some cruel wind may blow me away 
from your sheltering arms — your Mirage 
dear, will shield me for your own.” 

Adoringly, 

Cameo. 

Letter, 


50 


The Magic of Love 


And so Beloved if I am engraved upon 
your heart I must have a care that I mar 
not its delicate tracery — but rather in the 
years to come shall polish off rough corners 
wrought by this clumsy hand — to add, not 
detract from its dear beauty. 

This loveliest of things, this woman’s 
heart, upon whose delicate surface impres- 
sions are taken as on the most sensitive plate. 
What a frail yet strong little thing it is. 

And unlucky I be if in the stress of the 
moment I imprint there the picture that in 
calmer realization I’d give much to oblit- 
erate. 

Dear, there is only ONE WAY to erase 
all mutilating marks — It is by the wondrous 
magic of love itself. 

Hopefully, 

Your Magician. 


Answer, 


51 


Passionate Sea 


Beloved : 

To me You are as the rocky shore to the 
sea. In the sunshine of your smile I shall not 
be afraid. 

But when the clouds are dark and sinister 
and hang low about us — Shall I tremble 
when you frown? 

You are the rocks on the shore and I am 
the sea. Sometimes I shall gently caress you 
and then lie very still in your arms. Then 
again I will playfully tease you, winding 
around you my sea-weed hair. 

Dear, strong rocks, grim and powerful — 
I shall recede and elude you — 

Only to return. 

And when in my passion I fling myself 
against you, again and again — Will You 
cry “No more.” 

And shall I, like the sea EVER be 
cruel? 

Lovingly, 

Cameleon. 

Letter, 


52 


Castle of Dreams 


Dear: 

If you are the sea gladly will I become 
a rock that I may be near you. 

But when you fling yourself against me 
lovely sea are you not afraid I may hurt you? 

Or do you know that — though rocks are 
often hard and sharp to the world — to loved 
ones they are always soft and tender. 

And Sweet privilege — to be the strong 
rocky barrier shielding you and sheltering 
from the storms of life. 

But Oh, little Dreamer if I am to be 
your rock — Let me be the one upon which 
you build your Castle of Dreams. 

Your 

True. 


Answer, 


V 

Love's Alchemy 


Do you know why some women are so 
fair to look upon with shining eyes and 
radiant crimson lips ? I do — It is Love’s Al- 
chemy that makes them so. For they are 
dearly loved and very happy and the wonder 
light is shining in their eyes. 

They do not need the color from the 
rouge pot nor do they need the Beautifier’s 
art. Nay, NAY, for they have found as I 
have found me a something FAR more won- 
derful than that — 

For Beloved mine somewhere within 
your being you hold the wondrous nectar- 
wine of life. 

Then let me sip the fragrant wine that 
flows between your lips — intoxicating nectar 
of delight — that changes grief to gladness 
and makes all care to flee. 

Dear, let me drink and drink and 
NEVER stop! 

THEN Lover-Alchemist when I am 
drunk with wine of You, oh, give to me the 
potion of your love. Love potions bringing 
to me sweet contentment and drawing me so 
close unto your heart. 

Your 

Well-Loved One. 

Letter, 


54 


The Wine of Life 


And so it is the wine of life that paints 
your cheeks with roses and makes your eyes 
to shine out of deep passion tinted frames. 

It is love potions then that make the buds 
of love to flower dear, the sunshine shower 
that gives us all the children of the world to 
smile. 

The very rosy rain that makes the earth 
give forth its blossoms of Music, Art and 
Science and All progress here below. 

Dear one the Wine of Life creates and 
instigates all Greatness. It is the stimulant 
of love and life and hope and All. 

Your 

Lover (Alchemist). 


Answer, 


Kin to all the World 


Dear: 

I am a poppy flower with myriad little 
seeds in me — each representing one of my 
thousands of ancestors. 

Is it not wonderful then that the tiny 
things contain the characteristics of those 
who have lived before. And that these may 
not be lost to the world, they are given to me 
as my birthright. A part of their very selves. 

And so in living day by day I find new 
traits, new forbears and then say “Could I 
do thus if I had not some Latin blood.” And 
wonder how much influence it plays. 

Of course as every other I do trace way 
back but farther still I can not go. 

Yet when ’tis said and done, did we not 
All spring from some common parent — 
THEN I AM KIN TO ALL THE 
WORLD — even to the birds and trees and 
flowers. 

For Lover mine, through aeons of time 
the infinite little lives in me have come to 
make me what I am. 

Nor You nor I may change it. 

Thoughtfully, 

Kam. 


Letter. 


56 


I Need You So 


Dear: 

I would not change you if I might for 
like rare old wine we must improve with age 
— Else what excuse for living? 

And I think too, wise little Lady mine — 
it is because you are kin to all the world 
that all things love you so. For in sympathy 
and understanding you are nearer to their 
hearts. 

For there in the greatness of your nature 
you have room for all. 

Sweet you take the burden on your 
shoulders of they who cast the mantle of 
their weakness there. 

I too, lean for support in moral ways — 
For though I be so strong of will — Know 
you, there is great beauty in the world. 

Ah, dear I need you so! 

Longingly Yours, 

T. 


Answer. 


Symphonie 


Dear : 

I know a place atop of a hill in a Not- 
very-far-away land. There’s a lane with 
turns where flowers and ferns are strewn by 
a lavish hand. One wanders on and up the 
hill where tuneful echoes ring, while brook 
and winds and stately pines croon love songs 
and the trumpet vines, cling close and closer 
cling. 

There’s a lovely old manse at the end of 
the lane. We’ll call it ‘Reverie.’ Come! 
Time’s awing when Love is King. Oh, wont 
you go with me — And when you are there 
with me dear, and I shall make you mine. 
Our love will be the harmony, soul of God’s 
Great Symphonie — 

Fulfilling His Design. 


Your 

Harmonious One. 


Letter, 


Paradise Point 


I think you are right dear, that God in 
His wondrous wisdom made the trees and 
birds and flowers as accompaniment to His 
Great Symphonie — And you and I and the 
other lovers of the world its soul. 

That is why it is such an inspiration to 
go out into Mother Nature’s busy workshop 
and listen to the myriad little voices of the 
earth — For the Inhabitants of Outdoors are 
so happy in their freedom that they sing all 
day long — even as they work. 

And if there is a place where they are 
happier and sing sweeter love songs — It is 
out there on the rocks near that silver ribbon 
of water hastening to the sea. 

What a wonderful place for Symphonie 
is Paradise Point. 

Your 

Lover, True. 


Answer, 


59 


On This Your Natal Day 


Dear : 

I am like robin redbreast awooing — my 
heart is so full-to-bursting with Love that I 
needs must break into song — and 

I have a wish for you, dear heart, 

On this your natal day; 

That through the coming ‘rosy years’ 

All thorns have died away. 

Then I’ve a wish for Me, my heart 
’Tis selfish? — Nay, I pray 
For I would strew the roses, there 
Along your joyous way. 

Your Strewer of Rose-leaves, 

Kam. 


Letter. 


The Heart of the Rose. 


Dear: 

This is a sweet thought, fragrant with the 
odor of roses. But even if the thorns have 
not all died away through the coming days 
I think I shall not care for I have you to kiss 
away the hurts of the world. 

And when I look back along the way of 
life I wonder that I cared to live those long, 
long empty years without you. 

’Tis only Love, because I did not know. 

But now that I have found you may we 
not walk hand in hand together, scattering 
the rose leaves and praying that some may 
fall in the way of those who do not know 
God’s Wondrous Secret. 

Ah, let us scatter the rose leaves dear, 
for the heart of the rose is ours. 

Your Magnanimous 


Answer, 


True. 


61 


Stolen Days 


Dear: 

When are we to have a stolen day, out 
there on Paradise Point, that I be a wood 
nymph and you a wild faun — to forget the 
world. 

Do you not know that daisies are nod- 
ding to us over the fields and the tall grass 
is beckoning us to a game of hide and seek 
in its fragrant depths. 

I am a nymph and you are a faun. 
Strawberries are ripe and Clover with the 
Honey Bee is flirting. 

We are free — throw back your head and 
laugh wild faun as only you can laugh for 
the little spring is romping down the hillside 
and the hanging fern is clinging to her rock. 

Hark! for the lark is singing love songs 
and the busy squirrels are building them 
their nests! 

Come, Lover mine, let us steal a day 
away for Paradise Point is calling. 

Your 

Little Wood-Nymph. 


Letter, 


62 


Back to the Cave 


Dear little wood nymph if I might be 
with you always I would steal the whole 
calendar — and make every day Wednesday. 
If you so desired. Then you and I would 
be playmates all the while at Paradise Point. 

And if we did — who then would go forth 
to battle each day for the spoils of life? 

Dear, I do not think we were ever born 
for this struggle of toil but that man in his 
grasping folly has brought it upon us all. 

For did I not hear you say “How glori- 
ous to be free to live and love — to be Primi- 
tives again and laugh and play?” 

Sweetheart mine, let us steal the 
WHOLE calendar and go back and live in 
a cave. 

This is the wish of your 

Cave-Man. 


Answer, 


My Prayer 


Had I one wish, Beloved Desire, 

Across the Transcendental years; 

By glorious love, of flame and Are 
It is — of me you never tire. 

Of laughter and of tears. 

But then if you should tire Delight 
— And I do cease to charm ; 

I pray God make me by His Might 
Your Guardian Angel — day and night 
To shield you from all harm. 


Dear: 

You say I am favored of the gods — do 
you think that is the reason why I was given 
a pair of soulful eyes, befitting only an 
angel? 

And if that is so, what then shall I do 
with a mouth that belies them. For THAT 
dear, was made for your kisses. 


Letter, 


Longingly, 

Kam. 


64 


Love Guards — In Loving 


Dear: 

You are my guardian angel here on earth 
and in all time to come I pray. That is why 
you were given Madonna eyes that I should 
know. 

For God in His might sent you to me to 
cherish and He gave me the key to your 
heart. But first he bade me look in through 
the windows and made them clear that I 
should see there all. 

For your heart ever shines through the 
loveliest of eyes — But your mouth — That 
bespeaks to me of kisses! 

Do with it? I fear to say Give it to 
Cupid for his bow — For he might think I 
do not care. But oh! return it not to the 
roses dear — for roses live but a day. 

Nay I would beg you KEEP your rose- 
bud mouth — Keep it for me and my kisses — 

For the Guardian Angel who guards the 
best is she who Loves her prisoner. 

Your Willing Prisoner, 

T. 


Answer, 


65 


Come Back Oh, Magician 


I went out to Paradise Point today Love, 
— All alone. And as usual there was no one 
there except the busy Inhabitants of the 
Woods. 

So I cut across the hills and fields to the 
very spot where You and I played Cave- 
man and Woman. But things were not the 
same there. 

I whistled and called to the Lark of Ap- 
ple-Tree Lodge — but no answer — So con- 
cluded he was perhaps busy doing the mar- 
keting for a large family of children by this 
time. 

It is too late for the wild strawberries 
that just match your mouth — so I fell to 
wondering how it would feel to be a straw- 
berry — crushed by your red, red lips and 
tongue. Do you think it would feel the way 
it does when you ‘LOVE ME MOST’? 

Dear, do you remember the place, over- 
looking the River, high up on the rocks and 
very near to heaven. The spot where you 
told me God hid little babes in the grass. 

And how you and I hunted all afternoon 
to find one — Do you remember? 

Paradise Point is a wonderful place dear 
heart — But it was not the same today — 

Come Back, Oh, Magician! 


Letter. 


The Love- Wisher, 

Kam. 


66 


Love-Poet’s Eyes 


Dear Conjurer that you are, you would 
make a Magician of me also. Are you not 
then satisfied with the change you have al- 
ready wrought. 

Oh, the Magic Hand of Woman! The 
Magic Hand of You! 

Dear, in your little shell pink palms you 
hold my heart. I can see you close them 
tightly. 

You need not fear for I will not slip out. 

So you would make a Magician of me 
also. Ah, Love, Love it is You are the Con- 
jurer — 

For you have loaned me your crystal 
glasses that I may see life through a loving 
woman’s eyes. 

Your very own. 


True. 


Answer, 


cr 


Empty Shells 


Best Beloved: 

Nothing in Life can be of real beauty 
unless it have wonderful soul. But there are 
many lovely bodies that have lost their souls 
— and so they are as a setting without a 
jewel, a frame without a painting or a book 
without a story therein. Empty are they all. 

And do you not think dear, our souls 
were only given us in trust, that each day 
we may give back a part of them to the Fund 
of Happiness of the World? I do. 

If musicians we shall send them out to 
touch others in our song. If we dance it will 
be an expression of our inner selves. Even 
in the lowliest task we shall give out a part 
of our being that we may keep the precious 
thing alive. 

For a soul dear, must be nurtured and 
cherished if we would not let it die. 

And so. Sweetheart mine we must look 
well to our souls that they do not leave us — 
for then we would become but Empty Shells. 

Lovingly, 

Cameleon. 

Letter, 


68 


The Winding Way of Life 


Dear One: 

I had come a long way on the path of 
life — before we met. And the going was not 
always smooth and without rocks and thorns. 
But as every other mortal I did stumble on. 

Here stopping by the wayside for a time 
to help one find another way of life — but this 
he wanted not and so I hastened on. 

And thrice I met the Reaper on the road 
and sat me down in deep despair and wept — 
and then with aching heart I started on. 

And thus it goes — down dale and up the 
hill. But now that I have reached the farth- 
est crest — the hill of Hope — and found 
YOU waiting there — 

Together we shall find a path of life that 
stretches straight and smooth and far away 
— And where the roadway has no windings 
more. 

Your Contented, 

True. 


Answer, 


69 


The Altar of My Heart 


There is an aliar within my breast dear, 
and on it I have placed the candle of my 
love. 

Its holy light burns brightly for you — 
Its steady white flame unwavering through 
all the long days and longer nights you are 
away from me. 

No breath of mortal shall touch its lumin- 
ous glow nor dim its shining promise of 
Joyous Tomorrows. 

You may stumble by the wayside dear 
for the Path of Life is beset with dire temp- 
tations — but the shining light of my love 
will always lead you back to me. 

On the sacred altar of my heart, a light 
burns for You with a steady white flame. 

Your 

Devoted Little Priestess. 


Letter. 


70 


My Mission 


Beloved : 

If I should fall by the wayside and neg- 
lect to tend the candle of your love then 
truly would I forfeit my real mission in life 
— to make you happy. 

For dear, if I am altar-boy to your Hap- 
piness I must keep the flame in your heart 
shining bright — Not only for your own 
sweet sake but as the hope that guides me 
through life’s darkest night. 

I shall be faithful in my ministrations 
that at the end of the journey its light will 
not be dimmed and I may proudly say — I 
HA\nE FULFILLED MY TRUST. 

Ah, dear I shall keep it burning well — 
For this world would be indeed, a cold place 
if I might not warm myself by the glow of 
your love. 

Your 

Willing Altar-Boy. 


Answer. 


71 


Adown the Ages 


Beloved: 

I could kill you tonight and know the 
highest exultation of my joy. 

I can see you raise your eyebrows in an 
inquiry of mild surprise. 

I repeat. I could kill you tonight — for 
then you would be wholly mine. And with 
my slender, soft white hands upon your 
strong, young throat — crush out all signs 
of life. 

I could kill you tonight — and forget even 
THAT when you were mine. 

You are mine now I know Love but I 
dare not live until the day you are no longer 
mine. 

You say that only death can part us. 
That may be so but Loved One, life is such 
a little while. 

And am I to go adown the countless 
Ages — without my hand in yours, without 
your smile. 

Ah, I would I could kill you tonight — 
For THEN I COULD CREEP IN BE- 
SIDE YOU— 

And be WITH you — till the End of 
Time. 

Your All-Loving One, 


Letter, 


Kam. 


To THE End of Time 


Do you think dear one to frighten me 
with such a lovely thought. Ah, No! 

For I would travel with you thro the 
transcendental years — until we reached the 
Gates of Paradise. And if I be unworthy 
of an entrance There — I should at least be 
happy in the thought that yours was a safe 
journey. 

And if Saint Peter thought it best to 
close the golden gates behind you I would 
just wait outside there, with the hope that 
SOME DAY I might catch a glimpse of 
you as another angel entered there. 

Sweetheart, with your hand in mine I 
would not be afraid to Travel to the End 
of Time. 

Your 

W orshipful-True. 


Answer. 


Rainbow^'s End 


Lover Mine: 

What think you is at the Rainbow’s end 
besides the promised gold? 

I know — its one’s most cherished wish — 
but I think to find it one must walk the path 
of life that one has chosen. 

The rainbow’s arc has many ways. The 
golden road the road to golden wealth. The 
purple one the way of Dukes and Kings. 

The green for wanderers and poets midst 
emerald grass and trees. And the blue one 
dear, for those courageous ones who losing 
all that they love most, must still walk on. 

But last and best is the rosy way for 
lovers. 

Ah, Sweetheart mine will you walk with 
me on the rainbow’s rosy path that together 
we may find a “double wish” in the pot of 
gold at the end. 

This is the desire of your Rainbow-Girl, 

Kam. 


Letter, 


74 


Hearths Desire 


And what think you little Lady it will 
be your wish to find in the pot of gold at the 
rainbow’s end — You see I would know that 
mine may be the same. 

Do you think it will be of some rare 
jewels that have stolen their lights from the 
sun and moon and stars. Or will it be a 
masterpiece of Art — A Castle in Spain — 
Great Fame — Or beauty as the fairest 
Aphrodite? 

Perchance you should fancy the Philoso- 
pher’s stone or the knowledge of a Solomon 
wise. 

Sweetheart — one of these may be your 
wish but would you know my inmost heart’s 
desire — 

It is that part of You and part of me be 
welded in ONE for Posterity. 

Your Wisher of wishes, 

True. 


Answer, 


75 


Oh^ Treasure Ship 


I am a treasure ship Beloved with a very 
precious cargo. And to reach a safe and 
sheltered harbor I must sail — nigh to three 
hundred days. 

But the journey will not be long now 
for I shall spend the time dreaming of eyes 
and hair and a mouth like yours. And a 
smile — as sun after the rain. 

The way will not be long Love, for you 
will be guiding my ship by the compass of 
your strong, young will. And with your 
steady hand upon the rudder you will sail 
us past the Rocks of Hysteria — into the 
calm waters of Peace where there are no 
storms. 

Oh, Treasure Ship with your precious 
cargo, sail safely into the Harbor of Home! 

Dreamer of Dreams. 


Letter. 


76 


I Am as N^othing 


I can do nothing dear, before the wonder 
of it all. Only pray that I may be given a 
tiny fraction of the power to help you reach 
in safety the Harbor of Home. 

For through you I have reached the 
heights of love, through you I have learned 
the meaning of life. 

Who am I that I should touch the hem 
of your white garment — to make me exalted 
among men. 

Ah, Love, Love I am as Nothing before 
the holy wonder of it all. 

Your Helpless 


True. 


Answer, 


77 


Swift- Winged Messengers 


I have an aviary dear, and each day I 
send out one of my little swift- winged birds 
with a message to you. And they fly straight 
and true. 

Some days I send a scarlet taniger — let- 
ter of passion — to flutter into your hands. 
On another day a little white dove with a 
message of peace after the storm. Sometimes 
the fancy comes to loose a nightingale with 
a love song. And again it’s just a wise old 
owl to blink at you and scold you. 

Each letter is a little bird. I hope you 
liked them all — except the black, black raven 
that croaked “Nevermore.” 

He is dead now — killed by the scarlet 
taniger. 

So THIS time — put your ear down close 
to my letter that I may whisper and tell 
you that soon I will send you the ‘great 
bird’ with the long legs and longer bill. 

I am certain you will like him Love — 
For he shall make our sun to shine. 

Your 

Glorified Little One. 


Letter, 


78 


Bird of Paradise 


Dear One : 

Of course I have liked all the little mes- 
sengers you have sent me — even the black 
raven — for thief though he was I feared him 
not for he could not take from me the pre- 
cious knowledge that you are wholly mine. 

So if you ever find it best in all the time 
to come — to send me only ravens — I will 
understand. 

Still, I am glad dear, the red taniger 
killed him — It means you will not send me 
away again. 

Dear, I like all kinds of birds but best 
of all, the one that you are sending to me 
now. 

He brings so much of happiness to earth 
he should be called the Bird of Paradise. 

Always yours. 

True. 


Answer, 


If This be Good Omen 


I was lying beside the restless Ocean to- 
day dear, with my face turned toward the 
shining sun — I love the sun it is always so 
bright and cheery — the only thing that 
smiles when you are away. 

And as I lay there the clouds in the sky 
persisted in forming twos. Cherubs with 
curly heads and men and women and bears 
and nameless things of Nonsenseland. And 
none alone. 

Even the numeral 2 in more perfect 
form than written appeared again and yet 
again. 

And as I lay there dreaming a pair of 
seagulls sailed out o’er the water wing and 
wing. I know they were in love the way 
they flew. And they must have been happy 
— for surely they had not a care as they 
soared on — graceful and unafraid. 

All were in pairs dear — none alone as 
You and I. 

So now I wonder if this be Good Omen 
— That very soon you will return to me. 

Your lonely 

Little Mate. 

Letter. 


80 


The Soul of a Sea Gull 


Sweetheart Mine: 

There is a wonderful sixth sense that 
only women-kind possess and of course it is 
developed in varying degree. 

That is why you must know that even 
ere this reaches you I am hastening to your 
side. But Oh, for the wings of a sea gull 
that I be not delayed in flight. 

I do envy them their freedom — but I 
know of no state anything like this in which 
mankind may live — unless it be far from the 
well worn ways of life. 

Dear, does it not seem strange that 
through the centuries it is not given to us 
to retain our wings. 

For surely I must have the soul of a sea 
gull — Else why this longing for freedom in 
love — and flight. 

Your Lover 

True. 


Answer, 


The Valley of Shadows 


Dearest of All: 

I have been down through the Valley of 
Shadows — And saw there the River of 
Darkness in the Not-very-far-away. 

I have been down through the thicket 
where I stumbled on and on, my feet weary, 
my body bruised and torn — But I was not 
afraid and my heart was singing for high 
on the other hillside was a luminous spot of 
light — a blinding sun — and in the centre of 
this You stood — and SMILED. 

I wonder if in all the world, there is such 
another smile as your’s Love? 

Oh, we shall see, SOON we shall see. 

And you waited while I struggled up the 
hill to where you stood. And when I reached 
the top — Love, I placed a precious bundle 
in your arms. 

I have been down through the Valley 
of Shadows dear, but the journey was not in 
vain — 

For I found there — A priceless jewel. 

Your Little Sweetheart- Wife. 


Letter, 


82 


Lifers Pukgatory 


Dear: 

It is part of the Mystery of Life that I 
never could understand — in its unfairness. 
That it was given to woman alone to bear 
ALL the physical anguish that we may see 
the light o’ day. 

I say all the anguish but scarcely could 
your suffering have been more real than 
mine — for in watching you struggle there, 
down in the shadowy pit I lived through part 
of my Purgatory dear. 

I do not think to let you go down there 
again. For you are very near to me my 
heart. 

I hear you say “The journey was not in 
vain” — but Sweetheart mine, the River of 
Outer Darkness flows so near the Harbor 
of Home. 

Your Thankful One, 

True. 


Answer, 


This Little You-and-Me 


Dear^ Dear: 

Such a strange little creature is this son 
of yours with his rose leaf ears that might 
drop off if one touched them — and with a 
tiny rosebud mouth that blossoms when he 
laughs — and great blue sapphires bright and 
shiny in the place of eyes. 

1 am afraid of him dear! This little You- 
and-Me. He has journeyed so far and he 
looks so wondrous wise. 

Where did he come from do you think? 
I know it is the Outer Infinite but Ah, dear 
One I cannot comprehend. 

And are You not afraid of this wee 
stranger here beside me — that You and I 
are responsible for? 

Oh, I am Love! I am afraid of this little 
You-and-Me. 

Bewildered Little Mother. 


Letter, 


[Found in the waste-pauper basket] 


The King^s Handicap 


Dear bewitching little mother of course 
I am afraid of him and very, VERY jealous 
of him too. 

I admit I adore him — although he has 
nearly crowded me out of my home. Still 
I shall not complain if he does not crowd 
me out of your heart. 

But Oh, I do hope that soon, very soon 
you may tire of your new toy just long 
enough to remember your old one. 

Sweetheart it is very hard — He is my 
first and only rival — And this an unfair 
handicap. 

But at any rate if I do not win this time 
I shall have the sweet consolation that — 
HE IS HALF MINE. 

Yours 

True. 

P. S. — Dear the race is won with fiying 
colors — And I hasten to carry the ribbon 
to the winner — King Baby. 

2nd P. S. — After seeing you so divinely 
happy Beloved I think I shall not let 
you know that I am jealous — So I will 
just mail this in the waste-paper basket. 
The way so many lovers’ letters “go.” 

Courtier to “King Babe.” 


Answer, 


85 


My Jewel Case 


Forgive me if I write in verse — some 
things are better so expressed. ’Tis nearer 
dear, to song. 

I have a case of priceless jewels — of olden 
gems and new; 

The wealth of Abdul Hamid could not buy 
one jewel. ’Tis true 

Fair ladyes here and Sultans there have 
stones of matchless fire. 

But You, dear Love have given me the 
jewels of my desire. 

I have a lovely string of pearls of every dif- 
ferent hue — 

The pearls — Your Lover-kisses are. Each 
one more precious too; 

The rubies of your soft, warm lips are ever 
very dear; 

Fire opals of your touch can make the whole 
world disappear; 

The sparkling brilliance of your eyes are 
sapphires I may kiss ; 

My diamonds are the love-tears of a great 
and wondrous bliss; 

NOW we have added one more gem. ’Tis 
one of priceless worth 
A little You-and-Me, Sweetheart! For us^ — 
a dazzled Earth. 

So now with this New Ruler dear, we 
shall establish an Absolute Monarchy OF 
OUR VERY OWN. 

And shall we not call it Love, the King- 
dom of Home? 

Your loving 

Mistress of the Jewels. 


Letter, 


86 


The Queen^s Kingdom 


Queen of my heart you are the beloved 
ruler of our little kingdom. 

Ah, every woman is a veritable queen 
with a kingdom large or small as she so wills 
it! 

Then what matter it whether she hold 
her court in a stately mansion or in the hum- 
blest cottage by the wayside — if she be truly 
a queen. 

And so I find that the most powerful 
rulers are not the}^ who rule by fear, the rod 
of iron — but those dear lovely ones who 
guide us by a smile. 

Love, you are not only the Ruler of our 
little Kingdom but you are Prime Minister 
and Privy Councellor as well. And your 
word is law. 

We are but your courtiers to command. 

So if in fulfilling your desires we strive 
hard enough to merit a reward let us be- 
come lovely Queen through your gracious 
liberality, loyal knights of the Kingdom of 
Home. 

Your Courtier, 

True. 


Answer, 


87 




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